


Closing Time

by akraia



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Missing Scene, S02E12 Unnatural Habits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-30 00:45:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13938975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akraia/pseuds/akraia
Summary: The history between them was one of pain and no small amount of mutual resentment, but there had been other things, too: laughter and hope and  love and, once, a future. For the sake of those things, Jack wanted to see her happy.What happened between Phryne leaving the police station and Jack turning up at her house at the end ofUnnatural Habits.





	Closing Time

_I loved you when our love was blessed_

_And I love you now there's nothing left_

_But sorrow and a sense of overtime_

“Closing Time” – Leonard Cohen

 

Rosie cried in his arms at the station, distraught in a way Jack had never seen her before. He could count the times he had seen her cry in all the years he had known her on the fingers of one hand: usually a few tears shed in private, hastily blotted when he entered the room; once, during a memorable fight a year after his return from Europe, furious tears streaming down her face while she screamed at him. Rosie Sanderson coming apart like this in public was unheard of, and the experience was unsettling.

His attention focussed on the sobbing, shaking woman in his arms, he was dimly aware of Phryne's gaze on his back, the soft click of the station door closing when she left them alone. Jack was grateful for the privacy. He found any interaction including both his ex-wife and Phryne Fisher slightly awkward. But, in the words of a wise woman, what was awkward compared to dying naked in the shower with the opposition's scarf around your throat? Or, indeed, compared to learning that your fiancé and father were involved in a white slavery ring? Awkward, Jack decided, was a luxury he couldn't afford at the moment.

He held Rosie until the worst of the crying had subsided, then bundled her into the motorcar, realising only when he sat down in the driver's seat that he had no idea where to take her.

“Where do you want to go?” There was no point in posing the question gently. Maybe taking control of her immediate future would make her feel better.

“I've been staying with f-father,” Rosie hiccuped in an undignified way she would have never allowed herself under normal circumstances, “but I can't...I can't...”

Her voice faltered. He reached out to take her hand, which was lying in her lap clutching her damp handkerchief.

“I know. What about Cath?”

Rosie groaned, but didn't dismiss the suggestion.

“I suppose,” she said after a pause. “She's never approved of Si- of him.”

Jack, who had been at the receiving end of plenty of Rosie's sister's disapproval in his time, gave a snort but thought it wise not to say anything.

During the drive across town Rosie was silent. Out of the corner of his eye Jack could see her staring out of the window into the night, her hands restlessly kneading her hankie. They had been leading separate lives for a long time, even before the divorce, and Rosie was guarded about her thoughts and feelings at the best of times, but he still had a good idea of what was going through her head.

_How could you not know_ , she had spat at her father. Jack was certain that he had heard a clear echo of _How could I not have known_ in her words. She hadn't been implicated in that bastard Fletcher's machinations like George, but she had wanted to marry this man. She was bound to take a very personal view of letting herself be deceived like that.

And on top of that, learning that her father, whom Rosie adored, was involved in Fletcher's despicable business – well, that alone would be enough to pull the rug out from under anyone's feet. Jack rather felt a touch of that himself, together with the incredulity, disappointment, anger and disgust he suspected Rosie was experiencing in multiplied amounts.

Rosie's sister's housekeeper, roused from her bed by Jack's knock at the back door, let them into the kitchen and disappeared in a flutter of nightdress and dressing gown to fetch the lady of the house. Rosie sat down at the kitchen table, looking pale in the sudden brightness of the kitchen lamp. Jack poured a measure of brandy from a bottle he found in the kitchen cabinet and put it in front of her.

“Drink. You'll feel better.”

Rosie shot him a look, gave a huff and took a sip, shuddering. Jack hovered for a moment, then pulled up a chair and sat down across the table from her.

They sat in silence for a bit, while Rosie sipped and Jack tried not to watch her too obtrusively. He remembered the woman Rosie had been when they had first met: a little softer, a lot younger and more sheltered, but beautiful, intelligent and slightly intimidating even then. ( _What is it about my preference for intimidating women,_ Jack wondered for a moment, then resolutely banished the thought.) This new blow life had dealt her was hard on her, but Rosie was a woman of immense determination. Jack had no doubt she would come out on the other side stronger for it, just like she had used the war, being married to a stranger wearing her husband's face and the breakdown of their marriage to become a tougher, more resilient version of herself.

The thought reassured him. The history between them was one of pain and no small amount of mutual resentment, but there had been other things, too: laughter and hope and love and, once, a future. For the sake of those things, Jack wanted to see her happy.

“Jack.”

He came out of his thoughts to find Rosie looking at him, the empty glass in front of her. She looked drained, but her eyes were dry. Maybe the brandy had really helped.

“Thank you,” she said, pausing to listen to the commotion somewhere upstairs. Apparently the housekeeper had finally succeeded in waking Cath. “I know this is difficult for you, too. You always looked up to father.”

“I did.”

He gave her a small smile and, leaning across the table, squeezed her hand again.

“But I'll be all right. And you will, too.”

Jack transferred Rosie to her sister's capable hands with a distinct sense of relief. He left the house and sat outside in the motorcar for a while, thinking. Then he shook himself, starting the engine. There was something he needed to do.

 


End file.
